


Transient Beauty & Painted Beast

by writerdragonfly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DG Forum Fic Exchange 2011, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Scarred!Ginny, artist!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4982449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdragonfly/pseuds/writerdragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The penalty for the ancient blood feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys was the loss of an innocent little girl’s face. The result was part love story, part angst, and a lot of growing up.<br/>-x-<br/>Originally written for the DG Forum Fic Exchange, Fall 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Museohmuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Museohmuse/gifts).



> This story was written for museohmuse's prompt in The DG Forum Fic Exchange – Fall 2011. 
> 
> I figured I'd get to uploading a few of my older fics to AO3 when I realised I never got to posting this one anywhere after the exchange. I have no idea why, as it's one of my favorites.
> 
> This has not been edited since the original posting in 2011. 
> 
> Original prompt in the end notes.

Everyone has scars. Sometimes they just happen to show more than others. Sometimes they are physical and sometimes they are not.

 

I hated my scars for so long. They made me different. Ugly. A beast.

 

Draco had a gift. And I hated it. I hated it because he was given everything in his life that I was not given in mine. He had riches and prestige and pride and a face that could make any girl’s heart flutter. And a gift, a true gift.

 

All I had were scars.

 

I remember that night that he showed me the painting.

 

It was beautiful and for a moment I felt beautiful.

 

My scars weren’t all I had on the outside. I wasn’t all ugly.

 

Then I looked at him, at the way his lips barely curved into a smile. I remembered everything I’d learned about him in the last few weeks, everything he’d said to me.

 

And I snapped.

 

He had this life in front of him, this opportunity.

 

And all he wanted to do was paint me. And then he could face whatever it was that was eating away at him.

 

And he wouldn’t paint again.

 

I told him that it was horrible. I was a painted beast and he was some transient beauty who would leave me. I told him he wouldn’t understand me unless he was scarred too.

 

He had scars. Not on the outside.

 

Not yet.

 

I just didn’t want to face that maybe my scars weren’t so bad after all.


	2. Ginny I

There wasn’t much she could remember before the accident happened. She had only been six at the time, and the curse had also devastated pieces of her memory.

 

She could only recall pieces of that day, but from what she understood, her father and Mr. Malfoy had gotten into some kind of duel or brawl and backlash from spells colliding had found its way to her.

 

A ragged scar spiked its way from her right ear to her nose, pink and more than two fingers wide. A second scar, a purplish pink, thicker and less evenly spiked, started a few centimeters into her hairline just above her right eye and stopped just right of her lips where it split. A thinner scar branched off and curled under her chin, tapering off into a light pink. The second, thicker part branched off and sloped down her neck where it stopped in the middle of her breast.

 

Sometimes she felt as if her mood shone through her scars. They pulsed darker when she was angry, fading only slightly when not.

 

And sometimes, they burned. Like her face was too close to a fire and flames were licking at her skin.

 

Today they _had_ burned. And they had pulsed and she had been so angry and upset and. . . her chest had hurt.

 

 _I don’t want to paint you, Weasley. You’re ugly. I_ **need** _to paint your face. The way the pink amaranth crosses through the dying thistle. It’s disgusting, it’s not real, but it’s your face. The way it’s been since you were a child. I don’t understand how the amaranth can cross so_ **callously** _through the thistle! You don’t make sense and I need to make sense of it, I_ **need** _to paint your face._

 

Draco Malfoy wanted to paint her. It didn’t bother her like it normally would.

 

What bothered her was that a part of her, a small part, wanted him to.

 

If he painted her, he would stop looking at her. She could be, in some part, invisible again.

 

-x-

 

**_A week prior_ **

 

Ginny Weasley knew that she was ugly. She knew that people made fun of her behind her back and that first years dared each other to stare at her face.

 

Knowing meant nothing, not really.

 

She noticed a few days ago that Malfoy had been watching her. He never looked long but she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her like heavy steel.

 

What she didn’t know was why. Why would he look at her like that, like she was some intricate puzzle to decipher?

 

She was a nobody, a nothing, an ugly beast in witch’s clothing.

 

“Ginny!” Her best friend’s harsh whisper interrupted her thoughts.

 

“Sorry. What were you saying?” Ginny asked quietly.

 

“Why are you staring at Malfoy?”

 

“He’s the one staring at me! He’s planning something. I know it.”

 

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Ginny, he’s a boy. Boys do that. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Okay. But if he plays some insipid prank on me or makes fun of my face again, it’s all on you, Hannah.”

 

With that, Ginny left her best friend in the courtyard, stuffing her Charms book back in her bag with a huff.

 

-x-

 

When her brothers asked her how she could be friends with a Hufflepuff girl  –  much less one that was a year older than her  –  she didn’t have a simple answer.

 

Nothing about her life – her relationships, her general manner, anything really – was easily simplified by a few words.

 

Hannah had been one of the first people who didn’t treat her face like an affliction nor ignore it like it wasn’t there.

 

She was glad for her.

 

-x-

 

Ginny sat in her regular seat in Potion’s class, waiting for the next step of the potion. Slughorn was absent – again. He must’ve had another late night with the bottle, if Snape’s facial expressions were of any indication.

 

“Miss Weasley, what would you get if you added powdered asphodel to your potion at this stage?”

 

“An explosion, Professor Snape. Powdered asphodel doesn’t belong in any mood-inducing potion, and especially not after crushed belladonna,” Ginny said, after a brief second of thought. “The asphodel will react to the belladonna, resulting in a cloud of acid which will eat away at the skin of anyone within an arm’s distance.”

 

“Correct, Miss Weasley. Mr. Vesper, I suggest you move away from your potion before you lose your wonderfully rugged visage.”

 

Ginny, standing at the table next to the Slytherin boy, was in a prime position to grab his arm and pull him away before his overly acidic potion blew up in his face – literally.

 

The sapphire potion gurgled and spat out a cloud of acid that rained down around the cauldron, eating away at the pewter of the cauldron and the stone underneath it.

 

“Evanesco!” Snape vanished the mess and dismissed the class with a wave of his arm.

 

Ginny had pulled Vesper a little too hard in her haste and watched the classroom clear as she stayed in her spot on the floor. He stayed next to her there.

 

“Vesper, why did you do that?” Ginny wasn’t completely sure _why_ she’d asked. It didn’t really matter.

 

“Shove off, scar face,” he said harshly. Ginny could tell by the way he stared at the ground, the way his arms rested on his knee, that he didn’t mean it.

 

“Vesper. You were trying to kill yourself, weren’t you?”

 

-x-

 

Ginny left the Potions’ classroom a few moments later with a heavy heart.

 

She was a Weasley. She _knew_ pain and hurt and strength. Giving up, while it _would_ be nice, was never an option for her. Her family stood for all that was good in the world. They had stood in the face of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and not backed down.

 

Why was a boy, a fifteen-year-old boy, giving up so easily?

 

It didn’t sit right with her.

 

“Hey, freak!” a voice echoed in her ears. She spun around to see a group of seventh-year Slytherin girls with wands at the ready.

 

-x-

 

She was used to the teasing. It was natural that kids would tease her.

 

They always _had_ teased her, so why should she expect any differently?

 

Ginny curled her legs under herself and began to pick up her spilt contents of her bag. Then she saw a hand, and another hand.

 

“My father was killed last night,” Vesper told her simply.

 

And she knew why he was trusting her. Who would believe that a Slytherin like Vesper would ever talk to the scar-faced Weasley girl?

 

“I’m sorry, Vesper,” she said simply, looking up at the black haired boy. A faint smile came across his lips before it faded into a sneer.

 

“Draco is staring at you again.”

 

And Malfoy was.

 

 

“Vesper!” Ginny tried to call him back as he walked away.  He did not turn back.

 

“Weasley, I – ” Malfoy began to speak but she cut him off with a dismissive snort.

 

“You don’t care what happens as long as it doesn’t happen to you, do you, Malfoy?”

 

And she walked away in the opposite direction.

 

-x-

 

Malfoy watched her at the dinner meal as well.

 

The next day passed in much the same fashion. When she was in the hall, his eyes stayed on her.

 

-x-

 

By the fourth day, she’d had it. Vesper wouldn’t go near her, Hannah kept telling her to wait it out, Hermione just told her she was imagining it all out of stress from her upcoming OWLs.

 

Ginny knew differently.

 

She also knew that Nott and Malfoy studied in the library for an hour every Saturday afternoon.

 

“Malfoy!” she hissed out the second he’d exited the library.

 

A few confused blinks later, he motioned for her to continue.

 

“ _Why_ in _Merlin’s name_ are you watching me!?” she bit out.

 

An arm pulled her away from the blond Slytherin and she turned in anger. “This has _nothing_ to do with _you,_ Nott!”

 

“Calm down, Weasley! Don’t make a scene in the middle of the corridor. Circe, you’re a loud chit,” Nott remarked, releasing her arm.

 

-x-

 

"I want to paint your face.”

 

 

 


	3. Draco I

Draco Malfoy was an artist at heart. It was never something his father had fostered, but his mother held an incredible belief that he could succeed in art where she had failed.

 

His father wasn’t perfect and neither was his mother. He loved them both regardless, though he was loath to admit so. In the ten months since his father had been taken to Azkaban, his mother hadn’t been the same. He knew that things would likely _never_ be the same. But his mother told him to hold onto his work. It might be the only thing to keep him sane, and it might be the only thing to keep her sane as well.

 

Draco Malfoy was an artist at heart. And something about Weasley’s scars made his hands itch.

 

-x-

 

“What is in it for me, Malfoy?” Her voice wavered as she asked him. He looked up from his Charms essay.

 

“Anything you want,” he said simply. He tightened his grip on his already worn quill.

 

He could see her hands balled into fists, her knuckles turning white. Then she spoke quietly,

“When. . . When you’re done I’ll decide what it is worth.”

 

“Okay, Weasley. It’s a deal.”

 

-x-

 

Draco waited for the classroom to empty before he made his way to Professor Snape, his potion decanted and sealed. Theodore Nott stood guard at the now closed door, as per Draco’s request.

 

“Sir,” Draco began.

 

The professor cut him off. “Mr. Malfoy, I do believe your mother told you of our . . . agreement?”

 

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

 

Somehow, telling his godfather of his agreement with Weasley did not seem to be a good idea any longer.

 

And the distraction her scars had caused him no longer existed as he was faced with the

reminder of what he was meant to be doing. He could only hope when she showed up, he could begin his painting without the constant cloud of his task hanging over his head.

 

-x-

 

Draco sat on a tall wooden stool, staring at the parchment he’d lain over the canvas. It wasn’t as if he’d sketched anything yet – Weasley had yet to appear – but he was bored.

 

Perhaps she’d decided not to let him after all.

 

He sat there for what seemed like hours before the room shifted and a door appeared again.

 

But it wasn’t Weasley who entered.

 

“Malfoy. She’ll be along soon. Her _paramour_ was following her so she asked me to come in,” the girl’s quiet voice said. He tried to place her. Blond hair, brown eyes, pale, thin face – “I’m Hannah, Malfoy.  Hannah Abbott. I’m not surprised you don’t know my name.”

 

“I wasn’t – ” he started. She rolled her eyes at him as he trailed off.

 

“Wait, you’re in _sixth year_. So why are you friends with Weasley?” Draco asked the Hufflepuff suddenly.

 

The girl cut him off. “You think because we’re in different ages we can’t be friends? What’s next, Draco Malfoy? We’re in different houses?  We don’t have the same amount of money? I’m only a half-blood so we can’t possibly be friends? Get over it, Malfoy.”

 

“Hannah, I seem to have been kidnapped,” another girl’s voice echoed through the room. Draco looked at the door, his face hot with embarrassment.

 

Weasley stood there, her arm wrapped around a disheveled Luna Lovegood.

 

“Sorry, Malfoy. I couldn’t get away from Harry. Something’s bothering him. Where do we start?” Weasley asked. Draco blinked, confused.

 

“Luna and I will meet you in the library in an hour, Ginny.”

 

With that, the Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaw left.

 

The Gryffindor blushed and sat on the stool at the opposite side of the canvas. Her scars reddened with the rest of her face. It was a different color.

 

“So. . . what do I need to do?” she asked him quietly.  


He wondered that himself.

 

There were things that he wanted to say.

 

Sit still.

 

Be quiet.

 

Tilt your head to the side just a little.

 

“Weasley, didn’t you learn to sit still in that hovel you were birthed in?”

 

Not _quite_ the way he meant to tell her.

 

“I’m sorry, _Malfoy,_ I seem to have forgotten that you haven’t got any moves. Especially with the girls, eh?” the redhaired girl retorted.

 

So this is how it would be. He should have known.

 

“I’ve got plenty of moves with witches, Weasley. What Potter does to you couldn’t be considered _moves_ so much as accidents.”

 

“Oh, hold off. I’m not with Harry. Are you joking? If you think I’m pretty enough to warrant this attention, you’re stupider than I thought.”

 

Draco didn’t reply. What could he say? Everyone could see that she adored the stupid pillock.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Draco sketched on the parchment.

 

“No one looks twice at me, Malfoy. Why would they? You’re demented for looking twice, much less wanting to painting them. I’m nothing more than a beast.”

 

“Weasley, I – ”

 

“Ginny, Ron’s coming this way!” Abbott’s voice echoed through the room.

 

And she was gone.

 

-x-

 

Draco stared at his parchment, the words in his Transfiguration essay swimming before him.

 

“Why are you drawing on your essay?” Theo’s voice cut through his distraction.

 

 

It was only a few lines. Even without the x on her cheek, he knew it was her.

 

He drew an x.

 

-x-

 

“Stay away from her, Malfoy. You don’t deserve to even breathe around her.”

 

Draco turned around to see Robert Vesper standing behind him, a wand pointed in his direction, a scowl on his face.

 

“Vesper. What makes you think she would _ever_ want _you?”_

 

“ _Vulnus trans faciem_! _”_

 

Everything went black.

 

-x-

 

Draco learned many things after Vesper’s attack.

 

The first was that he would likely need to keep a glamour over his face while the jagged slash healed.

 

The second was that Vesper’s father was killed by Death Eaters.

 

The third was that Vesper’s mother was the reason.

 

Leigh Vesper was once Anna Fürst. Durmstrang Graduate, Charms Mistress, Death Eater.

 

What it meant was that he couldn’t tell anyone who had attacked him. He couldn’t take off the glamour and shove the mark in Vesper’s face.

 

No one could know.

 

Or someone would be killed.

 

Draco knew that his mother was more expendable than himself, and that Robert was more expendable than Leigh Vesper.

 

He couldn’t risk his mother dying now.

 

And he wasn’t sure he could handle what might happen if a kid died because of him.

 

Besides, a Malfoy never let something like a scratch on his cheek show.

 

-x-

 

Draco held his paintbrush away from the canvas, watching quietly as the Weasley girl stroked a finger slowly down her scar, eyes downcast.

 

“We’re all made to be broken, aren’t we, Weasley?” he breathed out slowly.

 

The girl’s head slowly turned up towards him. “Did you say something?”

 

“Neh. No.” Draco stumbled over the word.

 

He couldn’t tell her anything. Not even if he understood her a little more.

 

He was a Malfoy after all, not a silly Gryffindor.

 

 _I just want you to know who I am._  



	4. Hannah

Ginny wasn’t like the other girls. Hannah had always known that.

 

The other girls were obsessed with charming colors to their faces and with boys, or with school work and classes and being something better than “that girl”.

 

When she had gotten possessed and everyone knew, no one had gone near her. No one really had before then either.

 

But Hannah knew that sometimes, someone _needed_ to stand up for a stranger.

 

So she did.

 

At first, her house shunned her for her choice to befriend the scarred and pained Gryffindor girl. And then Professor Sprout had shown them exactly why she’d been sorted into Hufflepuff in the first place.

 

“I am ashamed of the lot of you.You were placed into Hufflepuff for a reason. Helga Hufflepuff would roll in her grave if she saw the way you all are behaving. Do you know what the fair and benevolenthouse of Hufflepuff stands for?” The shame on the faces of her peers was evident.

 

“To be sorted into Hufflepuff does not mean that you are not daring or chivalrous, it does not mean you haven’t nerve or courage. It does not mean you haven’t wit or intelligence. It does not mean you are not creative or shrewd. And it does not mean you’re not cunning or ambitious. What it means is that you are more devoted, dedicated, patient, persevering, industrious, constant, and understanding than all of those other qualities, than any of the other houses. _✭_

 

 _“_ I have seen _none_ of these qualities in _any_ of you today, save Miss Abbott. She has shown an _eleven-year-old girl_  that things beyond her control are unimportant to friendship. She has devoted herself and dedicated herself to showing a girl that she’s not hated by everyone because she was possessed, she’s been understanding for a lonely little girl. She has risked all of you hating her for what is right and just. And what have you done, loyal and  benevolent Hufflepuffs? You’ve shunned a girl, a member of your own house, for living up to what you all should.

 

“I’ve never seen such idiocy in my house. ‘Tis no wonder everyone believes that Hufflepuffs are simple. Miss Abbott, fifty points to Hufflepuff for outstanding moral fiber. And the rest of you lot? Minus one hundred and fifty points from Hufflepuff. You’ve just cost Hufflepuff the cup. We were winning.”

 

It felt good to know she was right in her beliefs, despite her house losing the cup.

 

And it felt right that when the first of September rolled around again, Ginny had someone waiting for her, a real and, this time, true best friend.

 

-x-

 

Four years later, Hannah was still there for that little girl, now fifteen and closer than ever before.

 

Ginny had proven to be a true friend to Hannah, just as Hannah had proved to be a wonderful sister at heart.

 

Hannah loved Ginny and Ginny loved her. Everyone knew it. Thick as thieves, the two were.

 

So when the news came that Hannah’s mother was murdered, it was Ginny they sent to tell her.

 

-x-

 

Hannah was in Herbology when Ginny interrupted the class. Surprised by her friend’s appearance in Greenhouse Four, Hannah had rushed to her side before Professor Sprout even had a chance to react.

 

Ginny took her hand, but handed Hannah’s Head of House a small scrap of parchment before leading her out of the greenhouse.

 

They walked in silence for a few moments before Ginny said anything to her.

 

“Hannah, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly. Hannah noticed the way her friend’s face blanched, the way even her scars seemed to pale.

 

“What happened, Ginny? What’s wrong? Did they get to your parents?” Hannah could remember asking. She had both of her best friend’s hands in her own by then.

 

“No, Hannah. They got yours.”

 

_Not her mother. Not hers._

 

Hannah fell into her best friend’s arms and cried. She cried long and hard. Ginny held her the whole time, a true friend.

 

And when she was done, when she could cry no longer, Ginny brought her to the Entrance Hall where her uncle waited to bring her home.

 

-x-

 

Though Hannah could never hate Ginny, Hannah hated herself then.

 

Not because she believed she would have been able to save her if she’d stayed home like her mother had wanted.

 

But because if she wasn’t the way she was, her family never would have been attacked to get at Ginny’s.

 

Perhaps it wasn’t right that she loved Ginny as much as she did, that Ginny meant more to her than her family had.

 

But in the end, she spent more time with Ginny than she had the ability to spend with her mother and uncle. Ginny became her family.

 

-x-

 

By the time Hannah returned, so much had changed. And yet so much was the same.

 

_Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✭“Devoted, dedicated, patient, persevering, industrious, constant.” - Hufflepuff as described by Fizzabella.


	5. Draco II

 

Draco slowly ran the brush across the canvas, the outline of a woman slowly appearing.

 

“How far down does it go, Weasley?” he asked softly.

 

Her mouth twitched, but she unbuttoned her cloak and robes and pulled them off her shoulders.

 

Draco felt his hand tremble slightly as she pulled her shirt halfway off her chest. He blinked a few times before he moved back to his canvas. He painted lightly with his brush, taking the time to look back at her as he worked.

 

 **“** Weasley. . . Ginny? You can cover up a little. I’ll stop before it gets that low,” Draco said, his voice serious and even.

 

The red haired girl looked relieved and pulled her shirt up to cover her breasts.

 

“Malfoy. Thank you. For not, you know, saying anything about them,” the girl said softly.

 

He just looked at her for a moment, truly looked at her.

 

She looked away first, focusing on her hands.

 

Whatever that feeling in his chest was, it was gone as fast as it had come.

 

-x-

 

Draco put his spade down and looked up when he heard the greenhouse door open.

 

Ginny Weasley walked in and took Hannah’s hand before handing off a small note to Professor Sprout. He caught her eyes, glassy and wet, before she turned and left with Hannah.

 

“Class, I am afraid that Miss Abbott will not be joining us for a few weeks. Her mother has been killed.”

 

Draco remembered the first time he’d truly spoken to Abbott, how the girl had been Weasley’s protector and friend.

 

With her gone, who would keep the rest of the students who found her disgusting from voicing that opinion?

 

Certainly he wouldn’t. Had enough problems of his own.

 

-x-

 

Abbott was gone by the dinner hour.

 

Weasley sat by herself, despite the room her brother had made next to him and the Brown bint.

 

-x-

 

Two weeks later, things went pear-shaped.

 

The two of them had left the room together, locking it safely behind them. Draco nodded to Ginny as she turned to walk the opposite direction. He noticed Pansy, but said nothing about her.

 

“Weasley.”

 

The tone in Pansy’s voice did not sound _right_.

 

“Parkinson.”

  
Draco turned to see Ginny walking his direction now instead. She was watching the floor.

 

“Weasley, you’re a pathetic freak.”

 

_What?_

 

The younger girl turned around again, her hands clenched into fists.

 

“What did you call me, Parkinson?” The fury and anger in the younger girl’s voice was evident.

 

“You are a scar faced brat. Do you really think he’s spending time with you because you’re pretty? You’re ugly, Weasley. The best thing you’ve got going for you is a nice set of breasts and average scores in class.”

 

-x-

 

Draco woke up several hours later in the Hospital Wing, sporting a broken arm and three broken fingers _._ He hadn’t passed out, though he wished he had before he’d gotten hit in the ensuing chaos.

 

“Malfoy. . . Draco?” a soft, feminine voice asked. It took him a moment to connect it to the girl who sat on the bed directly across from his.

 

He scanned the room for Pansy before he answered, “Ginny.”

 

The choked sob that came from the girl made his chest burn.

 

“I tried telling Luna. And Hermione. But they don’t understand. Ron would never understand and Harry’s got enough problems.”

 

He didn’t understand what she was getting at, why she was crying.

 

“You find my scars interesting. You could never find me interesting. No one bothers to look that far. I’m too disgusting. Pansy was right. Hannah was protecting me. Now Hannah is gone. _My best friend is gone.”_ Ginny’s voice was steady and sure but the unspoken “ _and it’s because of me_ ” hung in the air.

 

-x-

 

By the time the sun broke the sky the next morning, Draco was able to leave the Hospital Wing.

 

He spent most of his Saturday in the room with his half finished painting. _Wondering._

 

-x-

 

He tried to be objective, paint only the scars and the path they made. The stirring in his chest did little to help him.

 

She was ugly. She wasn’t going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly in five years or twenty. Her face was striking, yes, but not for it’s inherent beauty.

 

And yet, he felt something. Something _different_.

 

He’d been painting her in what little spare time they had between them for nearly three months, and now he was almost finished.

 

He wasn’t ready to stop spending time with her, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to admit he might care for her in any way.

 

But then again, he wasn’t ready for a lot of things.

 

-x-

 

Draco met Theo as he always had on Saturday afternoons.

 

His friend didn’t quite seem himself. He was downcast for most of the time they’d discussed their recent Potions essay.

 

“Draco, how long have we known Pansy Parkinson?”

 

His friend’s sudden question was certainly unexpected.

 

“Since we were children?” Draco answered, looking up at him.

 

“When, Draco, has Pansy ever done something so rash of her own volition?”

 

-x-

 

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered.

 

Why Melinda Abbott? A pure-blood, whose death would gain The Dark Lord nothing?

 

-x-

 

Except, without Hannah Abbott, Ginevra Weasley was vulnerable.

 

And a vulnerable Ginny meant a way to attack the Weasleys.

 

Pansy was a pawn in a much larger scheme than just a schoolyard fight.

 

-x-

 

And maybe, she was also a warning to him.

 

The Dark Lord was watching.

 

And he was not pleased.

 

It was the twenty-ninth of March.

 

He had less than two months left.

 


	6. Pansy

Pansy Parkinson would maintain the fact that, for a long time afterwards, she regretted every moment of her life before then.

 

She never had much of a choice for anything.

 

So it was no surprise that she would have listened to her father’s every request when it came to debasing the ever horrifying Ginevra Weasley.

 

None of them could have really expected what was coming.

 

-x-

 

“What did your father say, Parkinson?”

 

Pansy placed the letter on the table, looking off towards “Centaurs, A History of” and “Centurion, The Last”, sitting next to each other on the shelf.

 

“Well. . . are you going to do it?”

 

Pansy looked across the table at her best friend and then looked away again.

 

Of course she’d do it.

 

She always listened to him.

 

-x-

 

“Weasley!”

 

Pansy held her wand at the ready, her carefully manicured nails digging into the soft flesh of her hands.

 

“Parkinson.” Ginny Weasley nodded and turned away. After all, Pansy never bothered her anymore.

 

“Weasley, you’re a pathetic freak.”

 

-x-

 

She knew she had made a mistake.

 

But she knew of no other choice.

 

“Professor Snape?” She slipped into his office, noting that he did not even lift his head.

 

“Yes, Miss Parkinson?”

 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

 

Her professor looked up, saw the blood still on her face, the way her arm hung limply.

 

“What happened?”

 

_I followed orders._

 

_And now, I feel broken._

 

-x-

 

“Did you talk to Draco?” Pansy asked, sitting on the edge of the table.

 

“Theo’s gone to talk to him, Pans. Don’t worry about it,” her best friend said, looking up from his Charms paper.

 

“Blaise,” she said more softly, blinking back tears.

 

“Pansy, it will be all right. They haven’t told anyone what happened. And if he really likes you, he’s going to understand about this.”

 

Pansy looked over to the table where the wizard of her dreams sat.

 

And then she looked away.

 

-x-

 

“Parkinson, don’t let them get to you.” Lovegood was chipper and bright as she spoke.

 

“What makes you think you can talk to me, Loony?” Pansy snarled.

 

“Theodore says you’re a good person. So don’t let your parents get to you, no matter what they say.”

 

-x-

 

Pansy leaned on the edge of the parapet, staring off into the distance. The bitter wind blew her hair away from her face and kept her from crying.

 

But it did not stop her from thinking, wondering, wishing.

 

In another life, she imagined she would be a Gryffindor. A proud and happy girl who had the bravery to stand up to her father and to tell the Gryffindor she liked that she was into him.

 

In another life, she wasn’t always a dutiful daughter.

 

In another life, she was who she wanted to be.

 

“Tell your father that Draco will complete his task.” Her friend’s voice broke her from her reverie.

 

“Theo.” Her hands tightened over the cold stone.

 

“Pansy, are you okay?” Theo’s normally soft voice was stern and even.

 

“If I. . . if I don’t make it through this war. . .”

 

“Pansy. You’re going to be – ” Theo stopped when she turned to face him.

 

“Promise me, Theo. That you won’t mourn me as an ex-girlfriend. That you will marry Luna Lovegood and have tons of children who are never for a moment unloved.”

 

_Promise me that we will never be our parents, Theodore Nott. Promise me, you will never be._


	7. Ginny II

Ginny sat quietly on the stool. Draco was painting slowly, looking up only on occasion.

 

“Draco, how much do you have left to paint?” she asked him suddenly.

 

The blond didn’t answer.

 

“Draco?” she said again, looking for any kind of reaction.

 

“Meet me here tomorrow, Weasley,” he finally answered. He covered the painting and walked out without once looking at her.

 

Ginny wanted to lift the cover up and look at the painting, but she knew it wouldn’t be the right course of action. She sighed and walked towards the canvas anyway.

 

She stopped when she noticed the sloppily framed paintings stacked on the floor behind where Draco painted.

 

Paintings of animals and plants but none of people. Sketches of herself, thrown on top. Sketches of her as a child even.

 

He’d wanted to paint her for a long time, it seemed.

 

His paintings were terrible.

 

-x-

 

“Ginny.” Luna sat next to her in the courtyard, her arms wrapped around a stuffed dragon toy.

 

“Hi, Luna,” Ginny said, smiling slightly. The blonde smiled in her whimsical way.

 

“You know that most Slytherins are raised to obey their parents at all costs. Some of them are even beaten if they disobey as children.”

 

Beaten? What was Luna going on about?

 

“Theodore told me that his father used to hit him if he ever talked to the house-elves at home. He said that when he was dating Pansy, her father once twisted her arm.”

 

The idea that a parent would hurt their children was a foreign concept to Ginny, who had not known any degree of abuse from her parents.

 

“Luna, what are you talking about?”

 

“Pansy never wanted to hurt you, Ginny. She was doing as her father told her,” Luna finished. Ginny looked down at her feet.

 

“Take Wymond.” Luna handed her the toy and walked away, singing a song about Ubiqupeds and other imaginary creatures.

 

-x-

 

Draco stood next to the canvas, the inklings of a grin on his face.

 

Ginny stared at the painting, the way her hair fell and the way her lips were slightly parted.

 

She was beautiful, even with the scars.

 

She looked at Draco again. And something snapped.

 

“You promised, Draco. You promised. I will not let you make a fool out of me. I am not someone you can turn into an angelic beauty, a bloody martyr! I am ugly and scarred and I am not _this_. This is horrible, Malfoy. I’m just a painted beast, and you are this transient beauty who came into my life and expected to change it with a sub-par painting and a stupid smile. And then you’ll leave and my life will fall apart again. You can’t understand me. You don’t _have_ scars.”

 

-x-

 

Ginny held Wymond as she cried in her bed, thinking of Draco and the way he was when he painted her. The things he told her in confidence, the words he never spoke.

 

The way her heart raced when he smiled at her.

 

How his paintings weren’t bad at all.

 

She had a duty to uphold. And he had his own.


	8. Draco III

Any semblance to an excuse he had was gone. He could no longer rely on Ginny Weasley to distract his mind from his assigned task.

 

Even if he had wanted to truly accomplish his task before, he would wish it on no one at all.

 

He couldn’t talk to Theo, even if he wanted to. He had nearly told Ginny, he knew she would have done anything for him. . . before she saw the painting. Everything was _better_ before he finished the stupid painting.

 

He had to, he needed, _something._

 

-x-

 

Draco decanted his potion and sat it on Slughorn’s desk, silent.

 

“Draco!” Theo raced to catch up with him.

 

Draco did not say a word, did not quicken or slow his pace. He did not acknowledge Theodore Nott at all.

 

“What’s wrong with him, Theo?” Blaise asked.

 

Draco pretended that he could hear nothing, and steeled himself from wanting to turn around and fall apart.

 

-x-

 

“I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”

 

Draco swung his fist into another reinforced stall and felt his arm erupt in pain.

 

“You mustn’t hurt yourself.”

 

Myrtle, again, putting her input in.

 

“Mustn’t I though? Sacrifice everything? Hurt everything. . .”

 

-x-

 

Draco tightened his hands around his Transfiguration essay, staring at the dark red D scrawled on the top.

 

 

He’d never gotten a D before.

 

-x-

 

Draco clutched the sink, his head bowed. He stared at the water as his whole body shook with sobs.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong. . . I can help you. . .” Myrtle tried.

 

But he was too far gone for her.

 

“No one can help me. I can’t do it. . . I can’t. . . It won’t work. . . . and unless I do it soon. . .  he says he’ll kill me. . . “

 

The next few moments were a blur.

 

Harry Potter was there. Draco couldn’t recall who cast the first spell.

 

He could remember gathering enough hate to cast Crucio, bringing up the Dark Lord’s face instead of Potter’s.

 

But he could not even recall if it hit the boy.

 

Only that he had never hurt this badly before and never wanted hurt this badly again.

 


	9. Ginny III

She missed him. Especially when she walked by the room where they’d shared so much of themselves.

 

When she saw thistles in Herbology or used amaranth in Potions, she thought of him. When she hugged Wymond as she cried, she thought of him.

 

She stopped looking in the mirror because it hurt too much.

 

But she had her duty. She had to be more than just an emotional teenage girl. She had to be a strong witch, a symbol for the prevailing good.

 

A symbol, battered and scarred, but standing all the same.

 

-x-

 

She had to be strong all the time. She had to pretend that the snickers and the pointing didn’t bother her.  It was her duty to be strong, to be a signal, a sign to everyone that good could and would _stand tall_.

 

And then she kept thinking of everything else in her life. Ron and Harry and Hermione and Luna and. . .

And once she also had Draco. The wonderful terrible boy who only wanted to paint.

 

But they all had their duties.

 

No matter how he had made her feel when he looked at her.

 

-x-

 

Hannah returned a few weeks after Ginny had parted with Draco.

 

Her hair had been shorn to her shoulders, her skin paler.

 

It was as if Hannah was a different person.

 

And in some ways, she was.

 

-x-

 

_You are a scar faced brat. Do you really think he’s spending time with you because you’re pretty? You’re ugly, Weasley. The best thing you’ve got going for you is a nice set of breasts and average scores in class._

 

Ginny had nightmares often. About Pansy. About herself.

 

_You’re hideous. A weasel who should have died but lives with scars from the snare. You are less than a witch. You’re a rat._

 

About what might very easily happen in the war that was beginning to rage around them.

 

-x-

 

Hannah wasn’t as happy as she used to be. Bubbly Hannah Abbott was a thing of the past. But if there was one thing Hannah was now that Ginny would be better for, it was that she knew that some things weren’t going to be there forever and taking chances was more important than the stable excuse of duty.

 

Ginny wasn’t expecting her friend’s sudden explosion of opinion.

 

But maybe it truly wasn’t that long in coming.

 

“You’re saying you broke up with Draco because it was your duty to let him live his life? That doesn’t make sense, Ginny!” Hannah spat out at Ginny.

 

“I wasn’t dating him, Hannah. And it is my duty to prove to everyone that what is right and good can stand tall after the world tries to bring it down!” Ginny felt hot and more than a little sick as he friend spoke.

 

“And sometimes, duty is just a four letter word for excuse, Ginny! It’s not your duty to watch every chance pass you by because you’re too afraid to say you want something! You have a scar on your face because some stupid men fought over petty things! You don’t need to pretend that means you have some greater purpose in life – to teach everyone some stupid lesson! You’re fifteen, not forty!” the normally quiet Hufflepuff turned away from Ginny in a huff, her hands balled into fists.

 

“Hannah –”

 

“No, Ginny. I’m not going to stand here and watch you make the biggest mistake of your life. You could have a life with him. You could be happy. I don’t get the chance to be with my mother anymore. I know what it’s like to lose someone who means the world to you. I never even got to tell her one last time that I loved her.”

 

-x-

 

Every one has scars. Sometimes they just happen to show more than others. Sometimes they are physical and sometimes they are not.

 

Two hours later, when Ginny went to find her happiness, she found him in the Room of Requirement. He was there like he always had been when he had been painting her.

 

Hermione had told her what Harry had done.

 

 

Draco was scarred. They looked horrific and disgusting.

 

 

-x-

 

"You were wrong about me leaving you alone. It was my handsome visage that I was losing, not you." Draco seemed to be a bit loopy from his potions, but she couldn't help the teary smile that came on her face.

 

She slowly reached out to him, her soft hands gentling feeling the bumpy line that marred his face. "You haven’t lost your visage," she murmured.

 

“Why did you come here?” Draco’s voice was quiet and somber.

 

“Maybe it was never you that was the transient one, Draco. Maybe that was always me. Growing up, you were always painted as the beast to us. And I was the one who wore my scars like I was once some valiant beauty.”

 

“Weasley –” Draco began.

 

Ginny blinked back her tears and wrapped her arms around the thin Slytherin teen. The startled noise he made made her grin a little.

 

“I know I’m not as pretty as Greengrass or as smart as Hermione. I’ll never be able to charm people like Luna or –”

 

His arms reaching around her made her stop.

 

“I only paint what I see," he murmured. "And from what I do see, you don't have to be any of that. Not for me."

 

“You don’t sound like yourself. I’m sorry about all this Draco. About what I did to you. I didn’t mean any of it.” Ginny felt like she wasn’t good enough for him in that moment.

 

“Calm down, scar face. I think Potter just wanted a matching pair of freaks.”

 

“Hey, who are you calling scar face?!” Ginny exclaimed, taking her hands off of him, a wide grin on her face.

 

“You.”

 

His purple hair wouldn’t last, but Ginny didn’t care. She had what she needed. Him.

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:
> 
> Basic Premise: Ginny is disfigured with a facial deformity that she's had since a young age. Draco, who is a budding artist, finds himself attracted to Ginny – not romantically or sexually, but artistically. He finds himself wanting to draw a portrait of Ginny – flaws and all – more than anything else he's ever worked on.
> 
> Must haves: This will be set in the Hogwarts era, with Draco as a 6th year and Ginny in her 5th (this will also be AU). I would like to see stages in Draco and Ginny's relationship – that means no half-arsed 'uh, sure, Draco, go ahead and paint me' after two paragraphs of arguing. u_u I really want to see some fleshed out 'background' characters (this includes Luna, the Golden Trio, anyone else) – I want to see the effects of everything Ginny may do clear as day in those characters. I would prefer there to be a myriad of reactions to Ginny's disfigurement – disgust, interest, pity; but not all one shade. I want Ginny's character be to slightly OOC – she can still be the bold spitfire we've come to know her as in the canon world, but I would like there to be something different about her because of her facial deformity. Think of it as a personification of Ginny's torment since CoS. I would really like to see a ferocity in her that only comes out in regards to her scar. In that same mold, I would like to see Draco as a softer character. Not like, Puffle soft. But not that oppressive Slyth butt-head. He's an artist, remember – he's not off his rocker like Van Gogh, but he's passionate. I really desperately want to see a bonding scene between Draco and Ginny – just one moment when they realize 'oh, they're actually a human being.' I also want a scene where Ginny sees Draco's other paintings and thinks they're crap, but they're really not. I want there to be a Pansy/Ginny exchange, where Pansy lashes out at Ginny about her face, something that is taboo amongst all students, and Ginny lays her out (I'm talking a fist-fight here!) – only Fred, George, and eventually Draco calm her.
> 
> No-no's: I don't want to see a Phantom of the Opera-esque facial disfigurement. I want something slightly subtle but still very striking. I really wouldn't care to see some loving, passionate 'fall in love' story. I'm really going for something delicate, something angsty, but still heartfelt. That probably is contradictory on all levels, but I'm sure you get me. u_u
> 
> Rating range: T+ to M
> 
> Bonus points: Though I think this would work better as a chaptered fic, if you can fit this all in a one-shot, more power to you! If you get Ginny to really hate Draco's painting of her (when completed), that would be an awesome angst provider! A touching scene in the Hospital Wing after the fight. Having the first year Gryffs have some weird initiation where they have to stare into Ginny's face for fifteen seconds. If you include a backstory for this disfigurement, that would be cool. If you have Ginny not try and hide it, so everyone can see it.


End file.
